


One Last Leap

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Series: Forward and Back [3]
Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anachronistic, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slurs, Weddings, no beta we die like men, tarantino typical language, wlw and mlm solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: Sometimes you get really lucky and get a happily ever after despite it all.(The final part of Forward and Back. Set mid and post movie with a bit of a canon divergence)





	One Last Leap

** _“Don’t treat it like an ending, baby. We’re not over yet.”_ **

** _Cliff Booth to Rick Dalton, at some point in time, I’m sure._ **

**(01) Heard It Through The Grapevine**

It’s probably the most Hollywood way to find out about something and it happens it fucking  _ Italy _ . Lord, did this world have a sense of irony.

Cliff hears it from Maria (the hair girl who speaks English, thank God there’s at least one of them) who heard it from Angelo (an extra who gets shot in every movie he’s in) who’s some distant cousin of the guy handling PR for Rick’s next movie.

It’s one hell of a way to find out your best friend, your  _ soulmate _ , is engaged. Cliff almost doesn’t believe it but then again Rick and Francesca have been spending a lot of time together. Cliff assumed it was to gossip going - which, currently, seemed to be working - but he did spy more than a few moments of them giggling about something between scenes. Whispering in each others ears even when the paparazzi wasn’t around.

“Thought you would have known,” Maria says, helping him adjust his wig for that day’s shoot, “You two are practically brothers.”

Yup, that’s them. More than brothers, less than wives.

( **02) Luck**

Ricks pretty sure that Cliff’s never been angry at him. Which is impressive, honestly, given their decade long relationship and amount of bullshit that Rick has put them through. Rick drinks too much and cries too much and is just generally  _ too much _ . But Cliff never gets mad about that.

Sure they fight. They’ve broken up and gotten back together and get annoyed like any other pair of idiots who are hopelessly in love. But true anger? Resentment and malice and everything in between? No, never that.

But when Rick waltzes into their apartment - a sweet little two bedroom with plenty of windows and light - Cliff’s there, arms crossed in their kitchen, looking more than annoyed.

( _ That’s what you get, you goddamn queer _ , his father’s voice says. Rick’s hands itch to slap the side of his head, like maybe he can knock the sound out from between his ears.  _ No good, fag- _ )

Rick holds up a bottle of wine, feeling nervous and stupid as he says, “G-got this for free today. Guy at the m-market recognized me, can you believe it? N-no goddamn clue what he was saying other than  _ Rick Dalton _ and  _ take, take- _ ”

“Are you engaged?” Cliff asks, voice easy despite how tense he looks.

Rick almost drops the bottle, “Who -- who told-”

“So it’s true?” Cliff asks, almost laughing. His eyebrows shoot upward and his forehead wrinkles.

“Well, yes b-but, it’s not-” Rick huffs and sets down the wine bottle because holding it any longer makes him feel like even more of an ass, “It’s not gonna be real. O-okay?”

Cliff scrubs a hand over his face and doesn’t say anything. And maybe that’s what has changed most about them over the years - Cliff has been and always will be the cooler, more calm and collected man between the two of them. He’s the real soldier, the real cowboy - if he gets hurt, if gets pushed down, he always gets back up. He dusts himself off, maybe with a shit eating grin, and raises his fists ready for the next bought.

But these days there are some places he’s a little more sensitive. Only a little, barely noticable. Some places that can’t take a beating. You’d only notice those places if you were Rick Dalton because Rick Dalton is one of those places.

“What’d’you mean it’s not gonna be real?” He asks, his fingers digging into his arms.

And then Rick smiles, unable to hold it back any longer, “You’re n-never going to believe this. Goddamn, I thought she was pulling my leg when she told me -- no fuckin’ cl-clue how  _ we _ could have gotten so lucky-”

“Rick,” Cliff says, still patient as ever, “The point.”

Rick’s grin is brilliant, blinding as the sun, “She’s a dyke.”

Cliff blinks. Then the corner of his mouth quirks upward, “She likes girls?”

“Yes she d-does, my friend,” Rick nods, “yes she does.”

Cliff punches Rick in the arm, gentle and joking, “Start with that next time, you little shit.”

Rick winds his arms around Cliff, “Maybe I like seeing y-you get worked up like that over me.”

Cliff dips his hands into Rick’s back pockets, “Boy, I know you do. You’ve given me more heart attacks than I can count,” He pulls him closer until they’re hip to hip, “so am I gonna be your best man?”

“Oh, you’ve been my b-best man for a while now.”

Cliff chuckles as he kisses him. He can’t exactly disagree with that.

**(03) What A Beautiful Wedding**

Cliff straightens Rick’s bowtie for the millionth time that night. People see it - Rick’s new Italian friends, his agents and directors and producers, and Francesca's stereotypically large Italian family. They all see how Cliff’s fingers adjust the tie, and smooth his lapel. They see how they smile and laugh like it’s the world’s biggest inside joke.

And it kind of is. 

But they all chalk it up to men being men. Rick says I do and kisses the bride and their first dance is as tender as any first dance should be. Cliff has to bite his cheek to keep himself from looking too smug.

Cliff’s really only been to one other wedding and that was his own in a too bright, Las Vegas Chapel. Him, Natalie and the officiant, plus a sprinkling of strangers to witness the damn thing.

So when they’re all seated at these long tables, eating mountains of pasta and lamb, Cliff almost forgets that eventually a microphone will be passed to him so that he can perform one of his final  _ best man _ duties; a speech.

He’s mid bite when the microphone does come his way and, shit, he didn’t prepare for this at all.

But he’s Cliff Booth; he’ll stand tall and unwavering like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He has no idea where to start until he looks to his left and sees Rick smiling up at him, more than a little drunk but beautiful as always. Rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Francesca pecks the corner of his mouth and winks at Cliff and it still feels a little bit like an inside joke.

“Not too sure how many of you will understand me,” He chuckles and those who speak English laugh, “but I’m a simple man and I’ll do my best to keep this short and sweet.

“Rick and I have been partners for about ten years now. Joined at the hip for every show, every movie, every hangover. There’s been a lot of those last ones,” And again, people laugh, “He’s the best pal a guy could ask for.”

Cliff pauses and bites his lip because the handful of thoughts that come to him are too private. He loves Rick and even though Cliff knows it’s all a ruse for a minute it feels very real. It feels like he’s giving Rick away. 

“Francesca, you’re a doll,” He finally says, “and if you need any pointers on how to put up with him just let me know. I’ve been doing since the day we met.”

Cliff passes the mic back to whoever first gave it to him. His throat hurts a little when he sits back down so he guzzles the first glass of water he sees, not realizing it’s Rick’s.

But everyone’s too busy looking at the bride to notice. That’s what people do at weddings, they look at all that white lace and those fluttering eyelashes. Nobody notices that Rick slings his arm around Cliff and keeps it there for a few seconds too many. Nobody notices when they hold hands under the table.

(A few times throughout the night Rick looks at Cliff, handsome as ever in that suit, and he lets all the other details fall out of focus. Cliff with his hair smoothed back and his face freshly shaved. Rick lets himself pretend, only for a moment or two at a time, that this is their wedding.)

**(04) Pour The Champagne**

Rick and Francesca split a bottle of champagne before they catch their flight for America. They hold hands and Rick kisses her knuckles because they all see the guy with a camera maybe five yards away who doesn’t even pretend that he’s not taking photos of them.

Cliff is sitting opposite of the happy couple, content to stare at nothing in particular until their flight boards. When the stewardesses walk through the gate Cliff follows Francesca’s line of sight. She takes her time looking at the blonde one who’s skirt it just a touch shorter than all the others. 

“So, you’re into blondes?” Cliff asks quietly.

Francesca clenches her jaw and kicks him in the shin but all Cliff and Rick can do is laugh. 

This is going to work out just fine.

**(05) Pay Your Debts**

In Cliff’s fucked up, shell shocked brain it all kind of makes sense, actually.

Of course the  _ day _ they get back to Los Angeles everything goes to shit  _ very, very _ quickly. Death is always looking for new and exciting ways to collect from him.

So, with a knife jutting out from his hip and acid on his tongue, he kills these stupid, fuckin’ hippie sons of bitches. Everything is blurry but Cliff knows himself, knows what he’s capable of. Death collects and Cliff pays in blood and pulp and bone. 

The only real surprise is that Francesca helps by screaming and fighting. Though she be but little, she is fierce.

And the only real disappointment is that Cliff didn’t get to see Rick bust out the flame thrower. Really, that’s a damn shame.

Rick’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up. Bile rises in his throat more than once as the smell of blood and fire and margarita all mingle in his nose. Doesn’t help that he’s watching the love of his life get carted away and all Rick is allowed to say is, “Hey, you’re a good friend, Cliff.”

“I try.” Cliff says back as they seal him up in the ambulance.

_ You’re a good friend, Cliff _ ? What kind of dumbass thing to say to someone who just took a knife for you. Who literally killed for you. Who you love more than anything in the world; more than acting, more the margaritas, more than yourself.

Obviously more than yourself when you’re a sad, sorry son of a bitch married to a lesbian and ten fuckin’ years deep in it with your stuntman. A no good fuckin’ washed up, goddamn-

“Is everyone okay?” A voices says. Rick turns and there’s that guy who isn’t Roman Polanski but who Sharon Tate’s always driving around with anyway. Jay something. 

Rick’s taken aback a little and he looks and feels like shit but he’s able to muster up a chuckle and say, “Well... the fuckin' hippies aren't. That's for goddamn sure.”

And they get to chatting despite the fact that there’s still police milling through his house and blood staining his carpets and Francesca, crying somewhere, and Cliff  _ goddamn _ Booth on his way to the hospital.

He’s Rick Dalton and this is Hollywood and obviously he has to take the time to network.

When Cliff wakes it’s because it feels like someone’s hammering a railroad spike through his body. Whatever they got dripping into his veins has clearly worn off because this shit fuckin’ hurts.

His eyes flash open, wide and angry and pained, and the only reason he doesn’t scream for a nurse is because Rick is there, sitting in the chair beside him looking like shit. Like he might actually make himself worried sick.

“What time is it?” Cliff asks, his voice hoarse. 

Rick pours him a glass of water, “Dunno. F-four? Maybe five AM. Shit, Cliff, I don’t kn-know.”

Rick helps him sit up and drink slowly, holding the cup to his lips so that Cliff barely has to move. He even wipes his mouth for him and Jesus, aren’t they lucky it’s the graveyard shift and that no one is being too nosy.

“Didn’t think they let visitors in at this hour.”

Rick grins but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “They  _ don’t _ . H-had to cause all sort of trouble to g-get them to let me in here.” Rick shakes his head, “H-how are you?”

Cliff lifts his eyebrows and Rick knows it’s the dumbest question he could have asked.

He tries again, “Do you n-need anything? Just say the word and it’s yours.”

Maybe ten years ago Cliff would have played it cool but his hip hurts bad and he’s not so sure he can act like it doesn’t. “Get the nurse.”

Rick grabs two of them, just in case.

**(06) Luck Runs Out**

This thing was only going to work if all three of them could pull their weight. As long as Francesca acted or modeled, as long as Rick was able to get bigger and better roles, and as long as Cliff was able to still take a fall or throw a punch.

Because now that Rick has a wife, anyone paying too much attention might realize that there’s no real need for Cliff to be at the house so often. He’s an expense that Rick could barely afford already. So if Cliff can’t be at the house then he needs to keep his trailer and he can only keep his trailer if he can still be a stuntman.

So when the doctor tells him he might need a cane for a while it feels a lot like a slap to the face.

**(07) Take Me Home**

“Don’t tell me you drove yourself here.” Cliff says as Rick helps him to the car. Sharon and Jay had each offered to drive but Rick had politely declined. It didn’t matter that Cliff had been in the hospital less than a week and that Rick had visited him every day; Rick still missed him. 

“Shut the fuck up and g-get in the car,” Rick laughed, pulling the passenger side door open, “It’s like riding a bike.”

“No, it’s like driving a  _ goddamn _ car.”

Rick sets Cliff into the seat gently, like he’s a stack of fine china or bouquet of flowers and not a grown man who’s been hurt before. “You’re going to land us back in that hospital.”

Rick ran to the other side of the car, muttering and swearing because  _ yeah, this is his soulmate _ . This is what he missed.

“Y’know, once upon a time I used to drive my-myself places,” Rick counters as he slides into the driver’s seat. 

Cliff’s eyes are on him as he starts the engine and shifts the car from park to reverse. “Yeah, I remember. I remember,” Cliff grabs the pack of cigarettes lying between them and lights one. They both look at the long, faded scar on his arm. The one that felt like it happened a million years ago. 

Cliff smokes as Rick drives and it’s so totally opposite of their routine from the past few years, but it’s not awful. Rick’s a little nervous driving and tries to be precious with his turns and braking. In a way it feels nice to finally be the one taking care of Cliff.

**(08) Hold Me Close**

Brandy must know he’s still aching all over because when she greets him she whimpers slightly and licks his hand. Cliff rub’s her head and bends down despite the pain and kisses her forehead, “You been holding down the fort?”

Her tail wags in response.

“Good girl,” He says, patting her head again.

“Francesca’s pretty attached to her. They -- they’ve b-been sleeping in her bed every night.”

Cliff nods and watches as Brandy sits solidly on the tile in the kitchen, ears pointed and listening for anything unusual. Cliff looks towards the guest room. The door is open and the room is cluttered with Francesca’s suitcases and trinkets. 

“How’s she handling everything?” Cliff asks.

Rick half shrugs as he helps Cliff to the couch. “She’s been spending a lot of time next door.” Rick says as he heads to the kitchen to grab them some beers. 

Cliff’s huffs a laugh, “No kiddin’.”

“Sharon and her h-have been getting on like a house fire.”

That girl really did like blondes.

It’s not easy but after their third or fourth beer each they’ve gone horizontal on the couch, face to face and mindful of Cliff’s right side. They could move to the bed, probably should, but exhaustion washes over them both in giant waves. They settle for breathing each other’s air and trying not to fall off the couch.

“M’sorry,” Rick says, his lips pressed against Cliff’s neck. “You’d never get hurt if it w-weren’t for me.”

Cliff soothes him by stroking his hair and kissing his forehead, “Hate to tell you this but I’d be human even if you and I had never met.”

Rick looks up at him with tears in his eyes, “You know wh-what I mean.”

Cliff sighs and the words fall out of his mouth before he can think better of it - later he’ll blame it on painkillers and alcohol, “Well, my stuntman days might be over soon enough and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Rick stills and the tears spill over as he blinks, “What?”

Cliff says it bluntly, because he doesn’t know any other way, “Doc says I might need a cane. Says I might have limp.”

Rick tears up even more and that just breaks Cliff’s heart.

“Oh baby, don’t cry,” Cliff says, holding him closer, “What the fuck does he know anyway. I’ve been doing this shit a long time, alright. It’s going to take more than a goddamn hippie or two to keep me down.”

Rick just nods silently as Cliff holds him. Neither of them are quite sure how true that is.

**(09) Never Let Me Go**

“I’m a goddamn genius,” Rick says, poking Cliff awake at who knows when in the morning. “S-say it, Cliffy, say I’m a goddamn genius.”

“M’a goddamn genius,” Cliff mutters, burying his face into his pillow. His body throbs with pain as he tries to get comfortable again.

Rick pokes him again and Cliff sighs and opens his eyes to see Rick beaming at him and he can’t be too upset about that.

“You are going to be my st-stunt coordinator.”

Cliff blinks long and hard, “What?”

“If you really can’t do stunt work anymore then -- then you’re going to be my stunt c-coordinator. It’s going in all of my contracts. We’re a f-fucking packaged deal.”

Cliff runs a hand through his hair and is quiet for a while Rick smiles like he’s solved world hunger or won the Vietnam war. And all these years later Cliff might finally understand what Rick meant about not being able to think straight around him because this idea doesn’t sound foolproof.

It sounds a lot like Cliff’s an undue burden. Like Cliff’s holding him back from his second chance at stardom. 

“No.” Cliff says, a little too gruff.

Now Rick blinks, confused, “What?”

“No. It ain’t happening.”

“Why? Shit, Cliff, it’s su-such an obvious thing. You’re the best stuntman there is, who -- who the hell wouldn’t want you calling the shots on their film?”

_ Try all of Hollywood _ , Cliff thinks but doesn’t say because he really, really doesn’t want to start that fight. “Listen, Rick, if I can’t work then I can’t work. It’s simple. Putting me into your contracts is only going to make you unhirable.”

Rick sits up which was quite the opposite of what Cliff had hoped for, “Fuck that, Cliff. I love you, alright? Being on set ain’t gonna m-mean anything if you’re not there. Fuck.”

They’re both quiet for a few long seconds. The only sound in the room is Brandy breathing. And then Rick striking a match because, fuck, he needs a smoke right now.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.” Cliff says finally.

Rick rolls his eyes, “Are you fuckin’ k-kidding me?” He says after blowing smoke out of his mouth, “Are you -- you being serious right now?”

Cliff doesn’t even have the opportunity to answer him before Rick’s grabbing his jaw and kissing him like it’s the new way to say  _ you’re a bastard _ . Rick’s eyes are intense as he says, “You are  _ mine _ to take c-care of, Cliff. For better or worse, rich or poor, healthy or sick. It’s you, Cliff. Goddamnit.”

“Sounds like we’re married.”

“Who the fuck do y-you think I was saying  _ I do _ to?”

Cliff smiles and pulls Rick down for another kiss. “Does that make me Mr. Dalton or you Mr. Booth?”

If Rick answers it’s lost between the mess of lips touching and hand wandering.

**(10) And They All Lived Happily Ever After**

Turns out, maybe unsurprisingly, that they both were being a little dramatic. Cliff’s almost good as new after a month or two of physical therapy. Rick’s still a little easy on him, making sure that he never has to take too many falls in one day. There will come a time when Cliff won’t be fit for this job anymore but he’s not too worried about it.

When that happens they’ll move to Palm Springs or Chico or Monterrey - somewhere pleasant and far enough from the LA noise. Somewhere where no one will ask too many questions about who they are or why they don’t have wives.

But right now, everything’s fine. They’ll show up to set, trade secret kisses in the trailer, and drive home together soaking up the sun and palm trees and shitty traffic. They’ll sleep in the same bed with Brandy at their feet and Francesca down the hall or just next door.

And if anyone asks how it all happened they can start the story with  _ Once upon a time...In Hollywood. _

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys, that's it for real this time. At least I'm pretty sure. I never really intended to write this mini trilogy but here we are because these two have invaded my heart and refuse to leave. I hope I tied all the loose ends in a satisfying and meaningful way.


End file.
